


Love Is A Promise

by bellaaanovak



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Brother Feels, Coming Out, Established Relationship, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Pansexual Character, Past Rape/Non-con, Self-Acceptance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3724465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaaanovak/pseuds/bellaaanovak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean always knew there was something off about his brother, but he never expected this. After a bad night with a girl, Sam sits down and comes out as asexual, and it brings back a mess of memories Sam would rather not think about. While dealing with his attempted repressed memories and trying to accept himself, he still has to worry about coming out to Castiel - and that's the hardest part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Is A Promise

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work for the asexual supernatural mini bang. It was a lot of fun and hard work to write but it all came together so nicely. I'd like to thank [Marika](http://marikah.tumblr.com/), my lovely artist, for all of her hard work and creating the beautiful banner you will see at the beginning of the fic and the art at the end. Enjoy!

                                  

 

Dean always knew there was something off about his brother, one way or another. Sam being cursed by Azazel and having psychic powers was something he couldn’t help. Dean was more pissed at the demon and at Ruby and at the addiction than at Sam. Sam coming to him a few years back telling him he’s into guys as well as girls, well, that caught Dean a little off guard. But, more sooner than later, Dean told Sam he can fuck whoever he wants, and he’ll still love him, because he’s his brother. He should have caught the wince that came after that.

                Even though Dean watched for years as Sam went on dates with guys and with girls, and sometimes was even bold enough to hit on or kiss someone at a bar, he never really noticed him getting laid. Of course, even if Sam _were_ having sex, he probably wouldn’t give him all the details, but he might have at least mentioned it. One night, Sam did come home and he looked like he’d been through the ringer and back, so Dean didn’t even say anything. Sam was the one who initiated the conversation, but couldn’t get a sentence out without blubbering and crying. Dean soon realized he’d been drinking, and when he noticed his clothes were worn messily, he feared the worst.

                He feared Sam didn’t escape their awful childhood and instead met someone who decided what happened to Sam should happen again, without even knowing it. He feared another bastard took advantage of Sam and he was too late, _again_. He feared what happened in high school finally caught up to them, but through tears, Sam assured him he was wrong. Thankfully he did, considering Dean was already halfway out the door with two loaded guns. His demonic soul had been cured but when Sam trudged through that heavy metal door and down that spiral staircase and into the living room looking like he did, the Mark singed in a way it hasn’t for weeks.

                That was two nights ago. Sam hasn’t been ready to talk since. Of course Dean wants, _needs,_ to know what the hell is going on with his brother, and of course he’s screamed himself hoarse at the sky for the angel who says he loves Sam to get down here, but he won’t come and Sam won’t talk. At least knowing Sam wasn’t raped again makes him feel less nervous about it. Finally, Sam comes to him and nudges him with his shoulder, and Dean isn’t more relieved. He scoots over on the couch and makes room for his brother to sit down.

                “Can… Can I talk to you?” Sam’s voice is so small. He sounds like a frightened child.

                “Yes! Sam, shit, I’ve been waitin’ to hear you ask that. What the hell happened the other night?”

                “I- Okay, I was out having drinks with this girl I met at the library,” Typical Sam. “She was really nice, I mean. Cute, too.”

                “So, what was the problem?” Dean asks.

                “She wanted to go back to her place. We were both kind of wasted already, and when we got there, we got _more_ drunk… So, we slept together. But… I haven’t, for years, and I always found some sort of excuse to get out of sleeping with someone. At f-first I thought it was because I was just nervous it was gonna end badly, you know? Anyways, when it was over- I just, I felt so awkward, like it was the worst thing that could’ve happened. It felt awful. I h-had to get out of there, and I p-puked on the way home… I couldn’t. I _can’t_ …” Sam started tearing up again. Dean set his hand on his shoulder and nearly jumped at how much he was shaking.

                “Sammy, it’s okay. Whatever happened, whatever’s going on in that head of yours? We’ll figure it out, like we always do. You just gotta be honest with me.”

                “Dean – I refused to hook up with the people you’ve tried to set me up with. I always found excuses to not have sex. Dean, the reason I haven’t been straight with you these past couple days is because I was b-busy. I was doing research… I think, God, I haven’t actually said this – I t-think I’m asexual.”

Dean always knew there was something off about his brother, in some way, but hearing _that_ wasn’t even on his list.

                “Wait… what? I thought you were bisexual, or whatever.”

                “Me too, but, I’m not. I kinda have been… this, my whole life, just. I ignored it.” Sam sighs and runs a hand down his face. Dean stares forward blankly, trying to piece all of this together in his mind.

                Since they were teenagers, Sam has been weird about sex. He lost his virginity at the bitter age of sixteen, Dean overdid the ceremonies, and when John found out, he was “relieved his boy likes girls”, and confessed to Dean he wasn’t sure what Sam liked until then. At least he went to his grave thinking he was right, and not ever knowing about what really happened to Sammy. Suddenly, Dean felt unwell. When Sam turned seventeen, only a few weeks after he “lost his virginity”, Dad was out getting food and beers and that was the night his brother told him he was raped. It was a guy three years older than him, and God, Dean wanted to press charges on that son of a bitch for making his brother feel that way, but he knew Dad would find out. Sam made him swear not to press charges, but didn’t make him swear not to touch him. So he did. Damn, that asshat probably went home more black and blue than the fucking Pacific Ocean.

                Soon after that, Sam started going on less and less dates, closed himself off, and worse, shut Dean out. It wasn’t until he left for Stanford and met Jessica he started feeling more comfortable about sex. When she died, it was hell. He didn’t sleep with anyone for months. Every single time Dean tried to hook him up with somebody, he made a joke or an excuse. The farthest he’s ever seen Sam go was kissing someone until the other night.

                “Sammy, you gotta be honest with me. Is this because of what that bastard did to you in high school?” Sam winces.

                “I’unno, m-maybe. Probably, I mean, before that, even though I hadn’t had sex, I was fine with the idea of it. Liked thinking about it. And then that happened to me, and it suddenly made me physically ill even thinking about it. I tried to compensate and go on dates, and just try to say I hadn’t met the right person, but… That’s the _thing._ I _had_ the right person. I had Jessica, a-and then she _died_ , and now I have _Castiel_ … But I still can’t even imagine…”

                “Sam, it’s okay that you’re like this. I mean, it sucks you didn’t figure it out sooner, so you could have avoided a lot of awkward shit, and the other night – Jesus, kid.”

                “What’s Cas gonna say? I mean – he could be listening right now, fuck.” Sam buries his face in his hands and Dean stands.

                “I’m gonna fix you somethin’ to eat. Alright? Don’t move.”

                Dean heads to the kitchen and takes out two bottles of beer from the fridge, setting them on the counter. He doesn’t have the energy to make Sam a big ass meal, even though he wants to, so instead he puts a plate of twenty pizza roles in the microwave. Dean peeks outside the doorway and then leans against the counter with his hand in his hair.

                “Cas. It’s Dean… again. I don’t – Sammy really needs you right now. I don’t know where you are, but… Man, you gotta get down here.” The microwave beeping tears him from his train of thought, and he brings the food and beer back into the living room. He wishes it’s easier to get ahold of Cas. He has a cell phone, but Dean is pretty sure there are no cell towers in heaven. It’s a fifty/fifty chance guessing whether Cas is on earth or upstairs, and more than often, Dean guesses wrong. He wants to give it a shot anyways, but he’d rather ask Sam first. “Hey, Sammy. I was just thinkin’ about callin’ Cas. You okay with that?”

                “Dean, you’ve been praying to him constantly for the past two days. I don’t really think you need my permission to call him.” Damn it.

                “Look, I just wanted you to talk to _someone_ , and I figured if it wasn’t your own brother, it would be your… your boyfriend.” The word sounds foreign on Dean’s tongue. He’s been doing his best to accommodate, really, but it’s still… odd. Cas has always been just _Cas_. He still remembers the awkward conversation between the three of them where Sam and Cas confessed.

                It was after Sam expelled Gadreel and Dean, well, ditched him. According to the two of them, Cas was comforting Sam and calming him from his nightmares. The first kiss happened when Sam was high on pain meds and hell if Dean couldn’t believe that. Substances plus Sam usually equal little kid neediness and being more grabby than usual. Although, neither of them ever mentioned going further than making out and the truly obscene gesture of “cuddling”. Now that Dean thinks about it, knowing what he knows, it makes sense.

                Dean tried to pretend he didn’t notice the two of them staring at each other when the other wasn’t looking, or the never-ending trust in each other, or the glances and the slight touches and even the way Sam said _“Castiel”_ – like it was almost too perfect to be rolling off of his tainted tongue. When Sam was soulless, he still prayed to Cas until he was hoarse, not stopping, even when he never showed. Sam was so… infatuated with Cas from the beginning. _“It’s an honor,”_ Dean remembers him saying. While Dean was confused and suspicious of the angel, Sam was trusting and open. It’s safe to assume his little brother fell in love with the celestial being at first sight.

                “I do want to talk to him… just not yet. In fact, I haven’t spoken to him in weeks. He’s been busy with Metatron and heaven, and I don’t want to bother him.” Sam says the last part quietly, like he’s ashamed of just wanting to talk to Cas.

                “Bother him? Sam, Christ, he probably- he probably waits for your prayers every day, just to, you know, hear your voice. When I was in Hell, that’s the _only_ thing I’d think about.” Dean throat closes up as Sam squints towards him.

                “I’m pretty sure those situations aren’t exactly one in the same,” Sam’s eyes soften. “You never told me that.”

                “Well, hey, in my defense, sometimes it was Mila Kunis, so it wasn’t _always_ you.” The brothers laugh together, really laugh, for the first time in God knows how long. “Listen, how about we watch a movie or somethin’, huh? I rented this DVD compilation of some classic comedy movies, you know, like, the three stooges and the Marx brothers.” Dean twists the cap off of Sam’s beer and hands it to him.

                “Yeah. Might take the edge off. Thanks.”

                “Don’t sweat it.”

 

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            By the time the movie ends, the entire bag of Pizza Rolls has been emptied, each of the brothers have had three beers, and they’ve laughed more than they have in probably the last five years. Sam knows it’s good he’s spending this time with his brother, and he’s more than grateful Dean is and has been so supportive, but it’s not enough right now. Right now, he wants more than anything to just have a conversation with Castiel lasting longer than five minutes. Oh, and to see him face to face, because not only has it been weeks without talking, it’s also been weeks without seeing him in person.

                Sam’s so worried about coming out. He thinks the worst, like he always does. Castiel is probably going to leave him. He _knows_ what sex feels like now, despite the person he had sex with was actually a reaper trying to kill him. Is he just going to nod and accept he’s not going to have sex with Sam anytime soon or possibly ever? Is he going to simply forget about the pleasure it brings? Probably not. Sam’s different, broken, and alone. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but it’s possible endless love isn’t enough for Castiel. Plus, while having sex with an angel sounds ethereal, Sam knows in his heart he won’t really enjoy it as much as he’d like to believe. He turns to Dean and swallows.

                “Uh, Dean, I’m gonna… I’m gonna go rest for a while.”

                “No problem, bro. Just… try getting ahold of Cas, would you? You two need each other. Not to mention watching you sulk around here is really damping the whole celebrating-being-cured thing.” Sam scoffs and Dean smiles an honest smile. Dean using humor to cover up romance or friendliness or love is something he grew up with, but it still makes him long for fireworks, salt’n’burns, and Dad’s leather jacket.

                When Sam goes to his room, he locks his door and gets his computer out. He quickly hacks into the FBI database and searches for any record for a “Donnie Osborne”. Of course he doesn’t do this every few months. Of course he doesn’t expect to see evidence “Donnie Osborne” is in jail for the rest of his life. Usually he gets nothing, maybe a speeding ticket or something, but that’s it. He just wants closure. He just wants to know he and other boys out there are safe. Donnie is in his late thirties now, but he was only twenty when he fucked up Sam’s life. God only knows if he’s still targeting boys the same age Sam was.

                For a few minutes, the screen is blank, and right when he goes to close his laptop, the screen flashes a black window with MATCH FOUND in a bright green font on it. Sam’s throat closes up and he clicks the link. He’s taken to a virtual folder with information on Donald ‘Donnie’ Osborne, age thirty-six, who was just arrested a couple of weeks ago in Manhattan and is being charged with four counts of rape in the first degree. Sam can’t fucking believe it. It’s too good to be true. He stares at the mugshot for a long time. He knows how strong a case is with victims and witnesses, and he can still be charged with Sam’s rape because he was in New York when it happened. Sam almost cries. He finds the prosecutor of Donnie’s case relatively quickly and calls her.

                “This is Heather Newton.”

                “Um… h-hi, I. I heard Donnie Osborne was arrested, and, I, uh… I have some information that might help your case.”

                “Who is this?” Heather asks, sounding tentative.

                “Oh! Sorry, I’m sorry, my name is…” Sam frowns. “Sam Winchester” has been on the FBI’s most wanted list like, five times. He can’t testify. He can’t tell Heather his real name, not without explaining monsters impersonated him and his brother more than once. “It’s… Actually, this might not be that good of an idea.”

                “Are you one of Osborne’s victims? Please, I want to put this scumbag away for good. You don’t sound like a teenager, are you… are you ‘Sammy’?” Sam’s eyes widen and he clears his throat.

                “How do you… How do you know my name?”

                “The other victims are all seventeen year old boys. Osborne’s M.O. is that of fantasy… he called his victims ‘Sam’ or ‘Sammy’ and did… did the same things to them. Oh, my god, NYPD have been working tooth and nail to find a person in his life with that name, but they could never find you. Please, you have to testify. You’re his first.”

                “I’m… I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

                “Why not?”

                “Because my brother and I were on the FBI’s most wanted list on more than one occasion. Once we were at the top. My name is Sam Winchester. I was sixteen when I was raped b-by Donnie Osborne, and I’ve done some things, but all those times my brother and I were being hunted by the FBI, we were being set up. I know you aren’t going to believe me, but there are… _things_ out there. Monsters. Ghosts. Werewolves, vampires, leviathans – they’re all real. Some of them can… impersonate other people. That’s what happened to my brother and I. No one will let me testify. Somebody _will_ recognize me, and my brother and I will be rotting in prison for the rest of our lives. I don’t want that. My brother doesn’t want that. I want… so badly, to look this son of a bitch in the eye and tell somebody what he did to me, but I can’t. I will never be able to. This wasn’t a good idea. I’m sorry for calling.” The line is quiet for a few minutes. Right before Sam hangs up, Heather speaks up.

                “Wait, Sam… It can be an anonymous testimony. Sort of. You don’t have to come here, you can skype with me and Osborne’s lawyer, and we can distort your face and voice… the only thing the jury and anyone else will know is your first name. Please. Help me. I mean… I’m having a hard time believing you right now, but you sound convincing enough, and I’m desperate.” She sure as hell _sounds_ desperate. Sam thinks about it and realizes it really is a good idea. He can do that.

                “Okay. I’ll do it. Just tell me when.” Sam jots down the dates and times he’ll be needed and sighs. They hang up and he falls back on his bed, dreading telling Dean, dreading even more telling Castiel, because now he has more than one important thing to confess. Sam just puts his laptop away and falls asleep, not needing to be worried about anything else right now.

 

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_Two months later._

                Donnie Osborne is currently rotting at Rikers Island Correctional Facility and will be there for twenty years, without any chances of parole. Sam helped put him away. He’s never felt more useful in his life. Luckily, Dean was with him the whole time, standing by him, helping him with his testimony, calming his nightmares. Sam still hasn’t seen Castiel. By this time, Sam’s accepted he isn’t the angel’s first priority, and he’s also accepted his asexuality.

                Dean even ordered him a sweater with “this asexual pirate isn’t interested in your booty” printed on it in a cute purple font, where two gold coins replace the _o_ ’sin “booty”. Sam can’t wait for it to arrive; he’ll probably wear it every time he goes out with his brother, just to remind everyone he’s unavailable.

                Dean’s on a case a couple of towns over when Heather calls Sam. He’s been doing research for him since he’s had a cold, and Dean doesn’t want him to get sicker. Sam knows he should be supervising Dean, but he lets it go.

                “Heather. Hi.” Sam says, now realizing how sick he is. He clears his throat as politely as possible.

                “Sam! I’m so glad I could reach you. I’m sure you’ve heard the good news.”

                “Yeah, I saw it on TV yesterday. I’m happy I could help.”

                “Me too. I was thinking we could celebrate, go out for drinks, meet in person, you know?” Heather sounds… she’s sweet, but, there are so many factors which prevent Sam from meeting her.

                “I never mentioned this before, but, uh, I don’t live in New York. I’m um, somewhere else. And I’m with someone,” or _is_ he anymore? “You’re really nice, and you did a great job at the trial, but I just, I can’t.” Heather sighs. So does Sam.

                “I understand, Sam. We’ll be in touch, then?”

                “Yeah, yes, of course.”

                Heather hangs up the phone first and Sam sighs again, resting his head on the open book on the table. Right before he thinks he can finally get some sleep, there’s a loud knock on the metal door of the Bunker. He groans and steps up the metal stairs slowly, pulling it open to a familiar face.

                “Cas!” Castiel steps into the Bunker quickly, holding a large envelope. _His sweater._ “W-what are you doing here?” Sam asks as he shuts the door and follows Castiel down the stairs into the library.

                “I had some time, and I thought I would come and see you.” Castiel turns and smiles solemnly. Sam doesn’t even want to say anything. He had _some time_? Over the course of, what, three and a half months, _now_ he has some time? “I know it’s been a while, I… I’ve been busy with Heaven.”

                “Can’t Heaven wait? I’ve been screaming myself hoarse to you; I’ve really needed you these past couple of months, Cas. Were you watching over me or anything? Do you even know what I’ve been going through down here?” Sam frowns, and suddenly he’s back to that scared position he was in before.

                “I’m sorry, Sam, truly.”

                Sam knows he can’t stay mad at him. He fucking loves him so much, so powerfully, he just hopes Castiel will still love him when he tells him they’re never – or hardly – going to sleep together. He gently takes the package from Castiel and opens the flap carefully, confirming it’s his sweater. He sets the envelope aside for now, knowing that’s not the priority. He wants as much time as possible with Cas, but Dean could come back any time now for a recharge or to look at Sam’s research. Before anything, Sam kisses Castiel softly and tenderly, forgiving him.

                “I fucking missed you. You can at least check in next time, right?” Sam asks quietly, looking down at his angel.

                “I promise I will try to be more adamant about… checking in.” Castiel replies.

                “Listen, I have to talk to you about something… or, well, a few things, actually.” Castiel nods as they go to sit on the couch. “Cas… when I was sixteen, a guy older than me, he, well. He r-raped me,” the word still tasted bitter on his tongue, even after the trial. “I didn’t want him but he took my virginity anyways. Dean beat the shit out of him and that was that… but… since then I’ve been kind of repulsed by sex. And two months ago I heard he was arrested for raping four other underage boys and the prosecutor told me I was his first and who he based all of his fantasies on. It… I anonymously testified and helped put him away for two decades, but he’s mostly the reason I’m, um. I’m asexual.” Sam clears his throat and sneezes. Oh, right, on top of this, he’s still fucking sick. Castiel squints.

“You’re… asexual. And… you were… you were _raped?_ ”

                “Um… yeah. Yes.”

                “Fuck.” Sam winces. He doesn’t like hearing Castiel curse, even though he and Dean do it all the time. He still shamelessly holds on to Castiel being an angel of God. “I wish you told me sooner. I would have… I would have punished him.”

                “Stop that. Don’t blame yourself. He’s gonna be rotting in jail for the rest of his miserable life. You know what they do to pedophiles in prison?” Castiel inhales sharply. “Believe me, I’ve thought about, you know, ‘punishing’ him my whole life, but now that he’s away, I can, you know, gain closure. But… can we talk about, that other thing? Me being asexual?”

                “Yes, of course, Sam. I’ll try to forget about him. In fact, don’t even tell me his name.” Sam nods. “So, you’re asexual.” Castiel says again.

                “Are you okay with that?” Sam questions, nervously.

                “Okay with – Sam, of course I’m okay with it. I’m an _angel_. Technically we do not have sexual orientations, when we feel sexually attracted it is because of feelings we aren’t programmed with, but it happens. It happens when… it happens, regardless of who is on the retrieving end.” Castiel’s voice alone soothes Sam, and he cracks a tiny smile.

                “There’s a term for that, you know. Being attracted to someone regardless of gender. It’s called ‘pansexual’.”

                “I see,” Castiel parts his lips as if to continue speaking, but doesn’t for a minute. “Sam, I care about you. You must know that.”

                “Of course I do! I care about you too, but I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore because I’m…” Sam’s lips quiver. “I’m _broken. Tainted._ ” He practically hisses out the words.

                “Sam, of course you aren’t broken--”

                “What do you mean?! You’ve said yourself I’m- I’m an abomination, ‘the boy with the demon blood’,” Sam interrupts. He doesn’t mean to be this harsh, but figuring this out plus the stress of the trial has brought up so many things he wanted to bury. He wanted to bury his cute _angel_ friend calling him an abomination and cover it with all the countless times he’s saved him and been there for him, but this… this unearthed all of that self-loathing again. “I am. I literally can’t think about sex without wanting to throw up, or thinking about _him_.” Sam sucks in a breath. Castiel squints.

                “I could go back in time and stop him for what he did to you.” Sam disagrees and scoots closer to his boyfriend, breathing deeply when Castiel takes his coat off and holds him.

                “If he never… If I was never… I would probably be okay with sex. I wouldn’t have fallen as hard for you as I did, because that would have clouded my feelings for you.” Sam says softly.

                “If you think… Sam, just because I’m sexually attracted to you doesn’t mean I don’t love you as much as I would if I wasn’t. You’re _everything._ My friend, my favorite person in the world.” Sam hiccups.

                “You love me? Even though I’m br- even though I don’t want to have sex with you.” He says it more like a statement, like he can’t believe it, even when it’s coming from his own mouth like a fact. Even though Sam’s been in love with Castiel for years, even though his heart fucking pumps love out for Castiel, he still can’t believe _Castiel_ is in love with _him_.

                “Yes, Sam. Through and through.”

                Sam sits up and grazes Castiel’s cheek with his palm, leaning in to almost-kiss him. They sit like that for a while, just studying each other, breathing into each other. He can’t believe how fucking lucky he is. Finally, he presses their lips together and they kiss heavily, gnashing teeth and moaning quietly. When they part, Castiel drops tiny kisses all over Sam’s face and on top of his head. Sam cries.

                He pulls the sweater out of the envelope and sheds his three shirts, tugging the sweater over his body and grinning to find it fits perfectly. He watches Castiel study the shirt and then get the reference within a few seconds. Sam sits on the coffee table in front of the couch and scratches his head.

                “How long can you stay?”

                “A few days. Where’s Dean?”

                “On a case. He’s supposed to call me later, so we have a while. D’you wanna change into something more comfortable?” Castiel nods and smiles. Sam rushes to his room, changes into a pair of grey sweats and fresh socks, and brings out a loosely knitted blue sweater and black sweatpants for Castiel. He hands the clothes to him and checks him out as he changes. God, he’s lucky.

                “Stop staring.”

                “Never gonna happen. I may not want to sleep with you, but you’re still fucking beautiful, alright?”

                “It’s not… It’s not mine.” Castiel frowns. So does Sam.

                “I remember when you pulled me from Hell, Cas. I’ve… I’ve seen _you_ , and _you_ are beautiful. I know he wasn’t yours originally, but Jimmy is in Heaven, right? This body is yours now.” Sam tries to reassure Castiel the same way Castiel has been reassuring him. It’s clearly working on both of them.

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            Dean walks in on Sam and Cas eating pizza from a place nearby and sighs happily at the smell. He’s so happy he can eat and feel full and taste the food. He walks downstairs and attracts their attention with the clanging of his boots with the steps. The two of them look comfortable in sweats and sweaters, and hey! the sweater Dean ordered! and he goes to them and plops down at the library table.

                “Nice sweater, butt munch.” Dean says as he reaches for a slice of pepperoni. He takes a bite and God damn, it’s like his whole body just came.

                “Shut it.” Sam replies affectionately. Dean looks from him to Cas and back to Sam and confirms everything’s okay. Thank god. He was worried he would have to handcuff them together so they could talk, but it looks like things are just fine. “How’s the hunt going?”

                “Easy, except there’s actually _two_ spirits in that house, I guess the wife was killed by the husband, who was killed by the cops in a shootout, both in the house.”

                “I thought the wife ditched him, ran away?” Sam asks.

                “That’s what everyone else thought, too, except I may have found her remains inside the walls.” Both Cas and Sam grimace and Dean grins, shoving the slice into his mouth for another bite.

                They sit and talk about the hunt for a while and then it’s silent. Dean’s always known his brother was a little weird, but damn it if he doesn’t love him to death anyways.

 


End file.
